


Just a 25th-Century Guy

by limitlessrose (shinealightrose)



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Flirting, Jackson has a spaceship, M/M, Parties, Space fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-01 07:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightrose/pseuds/limitlessrose
Summary: Ten finally gets that party invite to Jackson's fancy parties aboard a space ship. Sicheng just happens to be the star entertainer of the night.





	Just a 25th-Century Guy

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this urge to write Tenwin, for you know, reasons. This was fun to write, I hope you enjoy! Thanks Jackson for the memories!

Ten adjusts his glasses—gold frames, neon blue lenses and completely unnecessary in this day and age—but he’s been told they complete his ‘look’. Old fashioned trousers, retro sneakers ca. 2020, a blue and yellow plaid shirt with neat, silver buttons that glow in the dark. He’s going for hot and nerdy. Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t, but it’s the year 2492 and he’s finally, _ finally _ , snagged an invite to the annual party of the galaxy aboard celebrity bounty hunter Jackson Wang’s private cruiser _ Space Donkey _, which is currently orbiting the planet Proxima Centauri. 

Smiling, beaming, ready to _ interact, _Ten steps into the lights of the largest deck on the ship, now partied out to the max with so many humans, aliens, and everything in between, music blaring and even a disco ball. 

He immediately bumps into a server with three arms carrying three separate trays of party favors and drinks. Ten selects some liquid concoction with a vivid lilac glow and fumes coming out of the top. It takes like plum. He grimaces. 

“Ten, is that you?” shouts somebody from right next to his head. 

Ten turns around and is face to upside-down-face with no one else but his colleague from Ambassadorial Station 3928.2. 

“Kun?” 

“Hey, that’s me.” 

Kun is literally hanging from the ceiling, or… no. It seems the ceiling has been retrofitted with a secondary gravity base. Kun is not alone among the guests who are thrilled to be upside down and still dancing to the beat. Kun is even now bopping _ down and up _ to some group Ten’s never heard of before but the bass is loud and Kun looks blissed out.

“Fancy seeing you here,” says Ten. 

“And you. Nice outfit! I see you’re going dressed as yourself.” 

Kun is of course outfitted in the latest fashions of tight spandex, with spirals of yellow and green and bright blue boots fitted up to his thighs. Kun was always something of a fashionista. He’s also one of the greatest xenolinguists of the age, second to maybe… Ten himself. 

“So, how do you I get up there? Is the view better?” asks Ten.

“Don’t look at me. I was just minding my own business and suddenly the floors flipped and I was floating for a few seconds but hey, then somebody handed me another drink, and here we are.” 

Ten suspects somebody handed him that drink _ before _ the ‘floors flipped’ but then again it’s not his call to make. 

Despite the placement of their feet, Ten and Kun manage to walk along through two different throngs of people until they’re closer to the viewing windows. Ten is not surprised to see people actually outside in their borrowed space suits, spacewalking among various platforms and rope lines, each with their own little space canisters with the straws which hook up perfectly into their masks. 

Back in the day—Ten’s seen the pictures—space suits were these clunky devices that made movement difficult and had absolutely no form at all. Not so these days. The spacewalkers outside wear form-flattering gear in chic colors and are much more mobile. 

Ten gasps a little, catching a glimpse of a man floating around in a pastel green space suit with dark green and yellow tie-dye swirls. His face through the clear space mask is about as attractive as Ten’s ever seen. His hair is blond. He looks just the tiniest bit familiar, but already Ten is in love. 

“Now who… is that?”

Kun spots him at the same time as Ten. “Him?” 

“Yes, him. Who is he? Tell me, tell me, please!”

Kun smirks. “Wow, who’d have thought. Someone here would actually catch your eye.”

Ten objects to such comments. It’s not like he’s the most discerning guy in the world, but he _ does _ have standards. Doesn’t everybody? This party is suddenly a thousand times cooler, and it was definitely already cool before. 

“Please tell me you know him.”

“Hmm, I _ may _ know him.”

“Qian Kun!” Ten is starting to get exasperated. 

Kun, however, is laughing. “Alright, alright, I know who he is. But don’t think you’re gonna get with him tonight. I can’t believe you don’t know who he is.”

“So tell me already!”

“That’s Dong Sicheng.” When Ten gives him a bemused look, Kun ads, “The space dancer?”

“Okay, but that name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Kun sighs. “Haven’t you heard the name Winwin before?”

Several little bells go off in Ten’s mind. And oh yes, he might have heard this stage name before. And he might recollect hearing people rave about the newest darling from Proxima Centauri, the one and only, best of the best, space dancer extraordinaire. Never has he actually seen the man in person now. It seems tonight is his dream come true. 

“Ohhhh. Yes, okay,” he says to Kun. Then, “He’s so hot. Please introduce me.”

Kun laughs and starts walking off, but not in Sicheng’s direction. Sicheng isn’t even inside the spacecraft. He’s floating about outside with half a dozen other guests, including the host of the whole event, Jackson Wang. 

Ten runs after Kun and almost loses him among the crowd of people congregating before the great viewing windows, apparently in time for the show. He hears the chattering, the anticipation. 

“That’s Dong Sicheng. Winwin, you know?” someone nearby whispers.

Someone else, a very self-confident sounding man, snorts. “Of course, I know. I’ve dated him.”

Ten shoots the man a scathing eye. The man is young, also blond. He might recognize him from a holoscreen reel recapping the highlights of last year’s Zero-Grav Galaxy Olympic Sports. 

_ Dated _. He said it in the past tense. That means Ten still has a chance. 

All comes to a hush as the inside lights dim and spotlights shoot out onto the dancers outside, a light show against the star-studded backdrop as several of the guests pull themselves through the safety wires off to the side and only Sicheng remains. 

Soft music filters through the room as Sicheng begins to pull himself through the rope lines, somersaulting between platforms with the ease of a gymnast but the control of someone who can only have been trained like this since birth. Ten has never seen a spacewalker as good, nevertheless someone as graceful, limber, and beautiful as him before. As Sicheng twirls about, face an extraordinary blend of concentration and elegance, Ten’s desire shoots through the roof. He wants, he likes… okay he just _ really _ wants to talk to him. 

What if his voice sounds as beautiful as his body looks? Even the briefest glimpse is setting Ten all on edge. 

He glances around. The audience is just an enraptured as he is, someone gasping as Sicheng lets go of one rope to seemingly fly off into space before he captures another one in his hand, swinging himself back towards the platforms. 

Elegance and danger. Not something usually valued by a xenolinguist, but Ten once had artistic aspirations too. None so dramatic as space dancing, but he appreciates the art, the finesse of the movements, the power and the control someone must have to complete the rotations Sicheng is doing right now.

By the time the music ends and Sicheng pulls himself down to the lowest platform to the viewing room, the guests’ applause is rapturous. Ten drags his eyes away from Sicheng to chase Kun down once again. 

“Please tell me you can introduce me?” he begs. 

But Kun is downing another questionably colored cocktail and his eyes twinkle as he apologizes. 

“Ten, the closest I’ve ever gotten to him was that Zero-Grav Pilates we had to do for the work retreat last year.”

Ten remembers being there, but nothing about Sicheng. He raises his eyebrows.

“The workout recording?” Kun prompts him. “That was his voice?”

Ten gasps. “What? That was _ him?” _

He remembers that workshop too. Mandatory for all employees for some kind of health-related seminar, and his body suffered so badly in those awkward-as-hell form-fitting gear. He remembers that voice though, all deep and sultry in contrast to the rhythmic beat. It almost caused him an inadvertent orgasm. Embarrassing, but not impossible to hide. 

And now Ten is even more in love.

He wastes time at the snacks bar waiting for Sicheng to reemerge. It takes entirely too long, but there’s a collective wave of oohs and ahhs to signal his arrival into the main party room. 

Ten jealously watches as the man who’d spoken before makes his way towards Sicheng. The space dancer, contrary to what Ten thinks an ex should be like, grins at the man and hugs him deeply, saying “Yuta! It’s been so long!” after pulling away. 

Ten seethes and Kun shows up by his side again munching on something weird. 

“That’s Nakamota Yuta. He’s an athlete.”

Ten scoffs. “Why are you telling me this.”

Kun shrugs. “Just figured you wouldn’t know. They used to date.”

“Well thank you for that information,” says Ten, just before Yuta leans in and leaves a giant, wet smooch right on Sicheng’s lips. 

Ten shuts his eyes. He feels a headache coming on. 

“Used to date?” he questions Kun again.

“Hmm. Well, that’s what they said.”

When he opens his eyes again, half of the adoring audience have moved on, not inclined to watch Sicheng and Yuta now full-on making out. Ten should look away too. There went all his hopes, and Sicheng seems quite taken at the moment… And yet. He can’t help thinking, those two look _ hot _. Or well, not Yuta, because Ten doesn’t care about him. But Sicheng, with a tongue down his throat… sizzling hot. 

Eventually, he turns around, adjusting to the fact he’ll just have to drink something else and maybe a dance a little with Kun tonight before going back home to his boring space pod at Ambassadorial Station 3928.2 and his boring job analyzing alien languages (he loves it actually). The music in the room builds to a proper level, old tunes and new blended together as the guests lose themselves in the midst of yet another euphoric rhythm, some dancing on the floor, some on the ceiling. 

Ten sways his hips a bit. He’s not feeling these 23rd-century beats. But Kun is drunk and Ten wouldn’t be a good friend if he didn’t keep an eye on him for the rest of the party. So he keeps a hand on Kun’s belt and he closes his eyes, determined to enjoy the rest of the night. 

Ten songs later, he’s finally feeling it. Kun’s been lost in the crowd for at least three. Ten thinks he spots him grinding up against some dude with flaming blue hair, but he doesn’t seem to mind so Ten lets himself go. 

There’s somebody butting up against him though. Happens in these crowded dance floors. One party gets too close to another, half-drunk apologies given before they move apart. Ten, however, turns around to accost the person dancing in his space and at the same time, that person turns around too.

It’s Sicheng, Winwin, the celebrated space dancer. Ten is shocked to discover he has to look _ up _ to see his face. 

Someone squeezes between them, an upside-down face shimmying across the ceiling, and by the time the person moves, Ten’s retort has been swallowed up and Sicheng is… looking him up and down… appraisingly.

So Ten decides to play it tough. “Excuse me?” he says, eyebrows slanted. He starts up his hips again as if he couldn't care less who this person actually is. Elbows rising with the music, he turns partially away from Sicheng, who doesn’t turn away but keeps on looking. A flush of excitement colors Ten’s cheeks, his heart rate spiking. Still, he plays it cool, throwing a half glance over his shoulder. 

Sicheng starts dancing again too, and to Ten’s sheer luck, right into Ten’s space. 

The first words he says to him are, “I like your glasses.”

And shit, if Ten didn’t remember his stupid ‘retro’ outfit with the sexy plaid shirt and gold framed neon blue glasses. But it seems to be working with Sicheng. 

“Yeah? I like old fashion. What about you?”

Sicheng grins, showing no teeth, but he looks pleased when says, “I don’t know, I’m more of a 22nd-century fashion guy.”

“Oh yeah? Pinstripes and everything?” 

Ten’s heard pinstripes are even older than that, but everything comes around eventually, again and again. A quick glance at Sicheng’s pants tells him that yes indeed, Sicheng is wearing purple and black pinstripes with the snazziest pair of yellow rhinestone spats. His shirt is practically glued to his chest, hot pink with purple tassels. Right up Ten’s alley, to be quite honest. 

Ten _ likes _ it. Ten likes it a lot. 

And judging by Sicheng’s softening eyes, maybe he likes what he sees too. 

“So uhm, you here with anyone,” Ten asks.

Sicheng shrugs. “Not particularly.”

“Oh yeah? What about that… guy earlier.”

“Yuta?” Sicheng smirks. “Just a friend.”

Ten is mildly impressed. He keeps on dancing, shifting through the bodies around them, and the heads of those upside-down. Sicheng keeps the pace, just as Ten intended.

Ten swirls around, as sexy smooth as his sneakers can go. “Well if that’s how you are around friends…”

Sicheng takes the bait. “You’re wondering what I’m like around… others who… aren’t?”

“Just a mild curiosity.”

But Sicheng stops there, and it’s killing Ten that Sicheng won’t completely indulge him. From somewhere on the far side of the dancers he can suddenly hear Jackson whooping and hollering over some hilarious thing. Offhandedly, Ten wonders if the man ever takes a break. Rumor has it the last time the bounty hunter threw a party he caught one of his own targets, drunk at the in-flight bar. A slick man, for all his party-hard ways. And if Sicheng is in any way affiliated with him, then he probably is too. 

Another reason Ten is attracted. He likes his men good looking, intelligent, full of attitude, and preferably flexible as hell. There’s only one thing left to confirm. 

“Are you human?”

Sicheng doesn’t miss a beat. “No. Are you?”

“Yes.”

Sicheng smiles. “I like humans.”

“And I… don’t.” What can Ten say, he’s just a 25th-century guy. 

“I guess that makes this perfect.”

“This?” says Ten, sliding closer into Sicheng’s space, close enough he can put his hand on Sicheng’s waist. So he does. Just a little test to see Sicheng’s reactions. 

“This,” says Sicheng with a little smirk, not moving away.

Ten’s about to lose his shit. He says, pretending to be cool, “You know, I’m a little tired of all this dancing. How about I buy you a drink?”

Sicheng smiles, stepping even closer, and Ten feels like maybe he’s about to be kissed when all Sicheng does is lean close to his ear and whisper, “But the drinks are free…” 

Ten titters, a blush rushing up and down his skin, but he refuses to be moved. 

“Okay, then. How about a free drink tonight. And tomorrow… I buy you another one.”

Sicheng’s smile deepens. His eyes are practically glowing. Sicheng may look human, but Ten is on fire wondering what else about him he’s going to discover in the coming days.

Sicheng leans back in again and says, “It’s a deal.” Then he holds out his hand. “I’m Sicheng.”

“And I’m Ten. Shall we, get out of here now?”

“With pleasure.”

  
  
  
  
  


Another boring day, another day at the office. Another day where Ten adjusts his glasses (still those cool ones because, why not) while staring into the screen that pops up on his desk, side-by-side documents he’s translating. The universe has gotten so large, at least for the humans who aim to understand it, and the alien languages are expanding. It’s all Ten can do to keep up with the latest lingo from each and every solar system. His eyes are starting to glaze over. Kun walks by. 

“Evening, Ten. You’re still here.”

“‘Course I am. My draft was supposed to be submitted two days ago but Kun, have you even _ seen _ the script those Weishens use to write? Ambassador’s gonna kill me. He wanted to rendezvous a week ago but the legal treaty addendums are murder!”

Some xenolinguists get to do the fun stuff, like translating novels and poetry or fun tracts for the common human. Not Ten. He gets the political crap with bosses on him like it’s the end of the world (and with so many aliens, sometimes it feels exactly like that).

Kun hums. “I’m sure you’ll get it done. Anyways, have you asked your boyfriend?”

Ten slowly draws his fingers away from the keyboard, looks across his desk to the neighboring cubicle, and coughs. “Uh, what boyfriend.” His left eye twitches. 

Kun is not impressed. He leans up against Ten’s desk and stares down with abandon. “Smooth, Ten.”

“Uhhh…” And Ten laughs. 

So technically, since Ten’s employment is a politically sensitive issue, he should probably have announced to his bosses that he was… somewhat involved with someone… not human. But hey, the relationship is still in the early stages, roundabout three months, so Ten feels justified. And just a tiny bit rebellious. After all, it’s not everyone who gets to fool around on the regular with one of _ the _hottest dancers in the galaxy. 

“I’m not being possessive,” he says out loud.

Kun looks at him strangely. “I… never said you were?”

“Oh. Uhm. Oops.”

He smiles as Kun walks off, saying, “Say hi to Sicheng for me!”

“Okay, I will!”


End file.
